


IKEA Intergalactic

by Arelithil



Series: The Secret Life of Holos [2]
Category: Star Trek: Picard
Genre: Gen, Humor, IKEA, but you never know, probably not a lot of plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:21:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26958007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arelithil/pseuds/Arelithil
Summary: The year is 2394. A humble flat-pack furniture store of interstellar renown is making its way through deep space, when, late one night, some unlikely customers ask to be let on board.
Series: The Secret Life of Holos [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1799299
Comments: 19
Kudos: 9





	IKEA Intergalactic

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been sitting on this story for a long while, but I never managed to get past the first chapter. I have no idea how long this will be and if/when I’ll come around to writing more, but I have teased this so many times I felt I should just post what I have so far. So, fair warning that 1) no end is yet in sight and there are no guarantees for if and when we’ll get there, and 2) any stray(!) plot bunnies that burrow their way into the comments will be mercilessly rounded up, professionally wrangled, groomed to the nines, and put on display for the world to see!  
> Proceed at your own peril ;D
> 
> The soundtrack for this little adventure was brought to my attention by Annamelia and Regionalpancake (who also functions as my official IKEA consultant). Give it a listen [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IUPu_ipbVB0).

Sasha yawned heartily and put down her hammer. She’d never understand why management insisted on running a night shift when they were en route, it wasn’t like they were likely to run into any customers out here! When they got closer to a space station or some planetary system, having a night shift made a little more sense, since _someone_ was always awake on those. Right now, though, they were still four days away from Trill at maximum warp — not that their maximum was anything to boast about — and in the first four hours of her shift not a single customer had appeared.

Sasha clapped her cheeks, trying to make herself feel more awake. She reached for another nail, when a cheery jingle from the PADD at her hip announced a ship on the proximity sensors. Similar jingles echoed around the nocturnally quiet deck, as the remaining members of the skeleton crew were roused to attention. What few of them there were. There was an unspoken agreement that only a handful of people actually worked through the night while the rest of the night shift napped until they were needed. Tonight, Sasha was the Shift Commander, so it fell to her to hurry to the Communications Counter and see if they might end up with customers after all.

Bleary eyes peeked around corners and over the top of the pristine furniture as she walked by, colleagues making sure someone else was taking charge and they could continue with whatever they were doing. Sasha gave them reassuring nods, which got her tired smiles in return. She had worked in a number of retail jobs before and had found that the only way to do this kind of public-facing work and not go crazy was if you got along well with your co-workers; and that went double for an interstellar travelling store like theirs, where you were cooped up with the same people even when you weren’t working. So, she greeted everyone, made sure she always had an open ear, and generally didn’t run into any trouble.

The Communications Counter was like the second bridge of their starship. The actual bridge was mostly an autopilot and a couple of very basic Emergency Holograms keeping them pointed in the right direction. The Communications Counter was where they contacted potential customers, stayed in contact with Headquarters, scoped out the next port of call, coordinated the day-to-day running of the store, and all the rest of it. A spacious, well-lit room slightly set back from the public part of the lower store deck, the Counter branched out into the Welcome Hall, where customers typically beamed in. Right now, the hall was empty, and Sasha’s sluggish half-jog echoed eerily around the cavernous room.

A light was blinking on the main display, indicating a potential customer in comm range. Sasha quickly scanned the information. Small speed freighter, likely to have minimal crew, overtaking them at high warp… There was something funky with their registration. It seemed to throw the store’s computer for a loop, as if it was having trouble identifying the ship’s affiliation. Then again, the last time the OS had been upgraded was probably before Sasha was born, so this kind of error could mean anything, really.

She hesitated for a moment, uncertain how to react. Sure, she could think of many less-than-legitimate reasons why a ship might choose to travel under a sketchy registration, but the freighter was too small to pose any kind of threat to them. If its occupants were truly up to no good, they’d most likely just ignore the giant floating furniture store lumbering along in the slow lane and move on. In Sasha’s experience, not many smugglers interrupted a cargo run for a quick shopping spree. Besides, she knew that management went through the nightly logs and flagged any missed potential customer interaction, so she made the judgement call and sent out the usual advertisement hail.

As she waited for a response that would likely never arrive, Sasha’s thoughts wandered back to the little nightstand she had abandoned mid-assembly. She liked that new line of bedroom furniture. It had a rustic, homey feel that you didn’t really get on starships nowadays. Most people seemed to prefer the whole metal-and-duraplast-aesthetic, the shinier the better. And of course, there were those that opted to forgo physical furniture completely, what with the increasingly wide-spread availability of holo-emitters. Would serve them right when their ship’s power dropped to reserves in the middle of the night and they found themselves on the cold, hard floor of a bare room with all of their physical possessions cluttering out of no longer existing cupboards. All those carefully arranged pictures and the pretentious satellite miniatures nobody was allowed to even breathe on smashing to tiny bits on floorboards that were no longer covered in ugly, mustard-coloured carpets and—

The comm screen flashed with an incoming message and Sasha jumped so hard she nearly toppled out of her chair. The freighter was actually calling back! Quickly, she adjusted the collar of her yellow uniform shirt, tucked an errand strand of hair behind her ear and hit the reply button.

“Welcome to IKEA Intergalactic! My name is Sasha, how may I help you today?”

The man on the other side of the comm link was human, maybe in his late thirties, with slicked-back dark hair and a well-trimmed beard to match. He gave her a dazzling smile. “Thank you very much Ms. Sasha, I’m delighted to make your acquaintance. I’m the Emergency Hospitality Hologram of the freighter _La Sirena_ , and I was hoping to visit your store. Would that be possible?”

“Of course, sir!”, Sasha gave him her most professional smile as she reeled off her well-rehearsed phrases: “Our store is fully equipped with holo-emitters and the latest redundancy and safety algorithms to ensure data fidelity, as well as with extensive privacy protocols. Would you like to review the brochure?”

“Thank you very much, Ms., but I’m sure that won’t be necessary.” The hologram’s friendliness put Sasha’s overtired customer service-routine to shame. She liked interacting with Hospitality Holograms; they were unfailingly polite, rarely caused any trouble, and some of them could even be kind of witty, but they always left her feeling slightly inadequate. She really preferred the part of her job that involved building furniture.

Right now, she tried to muster a little more enthusiasm. “Might I have a name, please?”, she asked, calling up a protocol sheet for the data-transfer-procedure and setting the cursor to the field for ‘starship owner’.

“Mr. Hospitality for the records but you can call me Steward.”

Sasha felt the corners of her mouth twitch into a real smile. It wasn’t uncommon for people to send their Hospitality Holograms to go shopping for them, so there were usually quite a few of them among the customers. But in all her time here, she had only encountered a handful of holograms who, when asked for a name, had thought to give their own. This might turn into an interesting night after all. “Very good sir”, she said as she typed in ‘EEH: Mr. Hospitality/Steward’ under ‘Additional Information’. “And might I also ask the name of your employer?”

They went down the list of required information. On a side screen, Sasha saw that the little freighter - _La Sirena_ \- had pulled even with the store and was keeping pace. She was getting ready to send out the transfer instructions, when a commotion off screen drew Mr. Hospitality’s attention. Sasha thought she could hear a voice - no, several voices? - having a discussion in increasingly loud whispers, but she couldn’t make out any of their words. After a short moment, the Hospitality Hologram made a gesture at which the voices stopped, and he turned back to the comm screen with a slight sigh.

“Forgive me, Ms. Sasha, but would it be possible for some of my colleagues to join me? Our Engineering Hologram is quite keen on inspecting any light fixtures we might bring on board, since there were compatibility issues in the past. I know it’s an inconvenience, but…”

“Oh no, not at all, sir!”, she replied quickly. This was getting more fascinating by the minute! “How many guests may we expect for pattern transfer?”

“Three, please.” There was more talk off screen, this time a little louder. The Hospitality Hologram’s smile did not falter, as he kept his eyes locked on Sasha’s. “I’m so sorry, Ms., I meant to say five.”

Sasha just about managed to keep her mouth from dropping open in surprise. _Five_ holograms? Why would a tiny ship like that have five Emergency Holograms? And why would they all want to come here? She wasn’t sure whether to be concerned or utterly delighted by the prospect.

Mr. Hospitality had apparently noticed her hesitation. “Not to worry if it’s too much trouble, Ms. Sasha, I’m sure my colleagues will understand.”

“No no”, she said quickly. “No trouble at all, sir. Um… let me just move your transfer to a larger buffer-link…” It was a mercy the store was currently empty, since there were only so many active holograms their mainframe could support at once. And it sounded like these were going to require a lot of computing power.

Sasha sent the technical information over the comm link and as the Hospitality Hologram signed off, she jumped up from her chair and almost ran out into the Welcome Hall. On any other occasion, she might have left it to the automatic greeter protocols to welcome their customers, but she needed to see this herself.

Lights came on all around as the ship geared up to receive the new arrivals, and the sound system briefly screeched through a discordant jumble of the twenty songs in its database, until it settled on that horrible jaunty number about the Andorian and the May Pole. They were all horrible songs, of course — there was probably some galaxy-wide law that no retail playlist was ever allowed to contain decent music — but the childish innuendo and cloying instrumentation made this tune particularly detestable. It was too late to do anything about it now, though.

Sasha’s PADD pinged and she looked at the incoming data. As the holograms on the other side started to initiate the transfer, their profiles popped up on her screen. Sasha’s eyes went wide with astonishment. Five near-identical faces stared up at her, distinct enough to differentiate them, but clearly based off the same template. She’d seen people use self-scan options for their EH’S, of course, which was usually how you ended up with a group of identical holograms, but that was just the thing: she would have expected them to look exactly the same. Even just going by what little she could see of them in the headshots, Steward and his colleagues had taken what their employer had provided them and made it their own, expressing a surprising amount of individuality in their choice of clothes and grooming.

Sasha shook her head and a delighted grin spread across her face. This was going to be a _very_ interesting night!

\---------------------- o O o ----------------------

“ _Welcome to Ikea Intergalactic, Make your Home among the Stars!”_ The disembodied computer voice sounded excessively chipper and fit very well with the over-saturated colours of the large hall they had materialized in.

Emil rolled his eyes at the horribly trite slogan. “I still don’t understand what exactly I’m doing here”, he huffed as he took in their surroundings. Holoscreens showed off colourful furniture at reduced prices and there was a low hum, mixing with the overly cheery music, making it sound as if there were other people around, just out of sight in the distance. As far as Emil could tell, though, they were the only customers currently present in the large hall.

“We never get off the ship. This is exciting!” Enoch beamed at him, practically vibrating where he stood. It was difficult to stay grumpy in the face of so much enthusiasm, but Emil had a lot of practice.

“I’ve been off the ship before”, he reminded the other hologram, “and those weren’t exactly pleasant experiences.”

“Oh, that hardly counts.” Enoch shook his head for emphasis. “You’ve never left the ship for pleasure or just because you wanted to!”

Emil raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t want to this time, either.”

“Now you’re just trying to be contrary”, Enoch chided him kindly. “I’m sure you’re gonna enjoy yourself if you give it a chance.”

“Dinnae you say there were no good planters in the replicator database and your Spotted Botanicula kept wilting?”, Ian asked in a placating tone from Emil’s other side. “Maybe you can find better ones here?”

“Oh, I’m certain we’ll be able to help you with that”, a chipper voice chimed in before Emil had a chance to answer. “Our gardening section offers a wide variety of flowerpots, hydroponic shells and specialized planting units that are sure to brighten up any room and make your Botanicula thrive.”

They all turned to look at the woman in a blue and yellow uniform who was approaching them from what must be the entrance to the store proper. Emil unthinkingly reached out to the bioscanners that were linked into his programme and usually supplied him with a host of data about any person he encountered for the first time. They were rather crude instruments, of course, but they helped him quickly assess the general physical state and possible needs of anyone on _Sirena_ who might sooner or later require his care. Except right now, they weren’t on _La Sirena_. If this ship even had bioscanners, he had no access to them, and the absence of this subtle but ever-present source of information made Emil feel like he was walking around half-blind. It certainly didn’t put him in the mood for small talk about flowerpots.

Fortunately, Steward was in his element and more than happy to engage the young shop assistant before the silence could become awkward.

“Ah, Ms. Sasha, it’s very nice to meet you face to face. Thank you so much for accommodating all of us.”

“It’s an absolute pleasure. Welcome to Ikea Intergalactic!” She shook the hand the EHH offered her and looked around at the rest of them with a smile. “Apart from Botanicula pots, is there anything in particular you are looking for tonight?”

Tonight? While Ian and Steward started reeling off a list of the furniture and accoutrements they were hoping to buy, Emil accessed the publicly available information on the system that was now hosting all of their code. Apparently, this vessel ran on a 24-hour day-night-cycle and the internal clocks put the current time at 2:17 am. That would explain the exhaustion on the young woman’s face. Even without proper scanners, Emil’s photonic senses were still those of a trained physician, and they had subconsciously catalogued all the little signs and symptoms that now allowed him to diagnose her with a severe case of ‘working the night shift’. Perhaps that was also the reason there were no other salespeople or customers anywhere to be seen.

He got distracted from his reverie by a repetitive movement in his peripheral vision. Enoch, clearly no longer able to contain his excitement, was bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. When he noticed Emil looking over, the ENH grinned and waggled his eyebrows.

Emil just shook his head, trying very hard not to roll his eyes. He was happy for Enoch, he really was. To the best of Emil’s knowledge, Steward and he were the only holograms who had ever gotten to leave the confines of _La Sirena,_ and especially for a free spirit like their navigator, this was a momentous occasion. He just wished he hadn’t been dragged along. Once again, he reached out through the unfamiliar ship’s systems to make sure the connection to _Sirena_ was stable and all alarms were quiet.

Enoch was still watching him, and his expression turned from unbridled joy to something a little more mischievous. “You know”, he said with a glint in his eyes, “if you really don’t feel like coming along, you can wait for us. I hear these stores have areas designed specifically to keep joyless grumps occupied while their companions savour their shopping.”

Emil wheeled around on the other hologram and leaned forward, ready to give the ENH a piece of his mind, but once again, the young shop assistant chose to insert herself into their conversation. “If you’d prefer to wait for your colleagues, our café offers some excellent holographic beverages”, she offered with blithe cheeriness. “I’m afraid we haven’t quite been able to reproduce many of the food options to a satisfying standard, but I hear the holographic oat biscuits are delicious.”

Impossibly, Enoch’s grin grew even wider. “What a lovely suggestion, Miss! We’ll definitely have to visit the café later. But I was thinking more of something like that…” He pointed towards the back of the hall, where two miniature trees, their branches intertwined and heavily laden with holographic snow, formed a mystic-looking archway. The view of the space behind it was blocked by a large counter, but the bright paintings of happy younglings from a variety of species adorning the walls left very little doubt as to the purpose of the place.

Emil rocked back on his heels and straightened his back with all the haughty dignity his programming could muster. “I’m sure I should be delighted to spend quality time anywhere on this fine vessel, but I would be loath to inconvenience our host. Unless you would like to go explore? I’m sure it would suit your sense of adventure very well.”

“It most certainly would”, Enoch aped him, eyes glinting with wicked delight. “Some of us aren’t too stuffy to enjoy ourselves.”

“I would be more than happy to open it up for you”, the young woman offered with an innocent smile. “Usually there is an age-restriction on our Småland, but I’m sure in this exceptional situation we can… er… make an exception.”

Emil regarded her with growing suspicion. Her manner was completely professional, if a little tired, but there was an eagerness in the way she watched them bicker. Like she had a front-row seat for an exciting new holo-drama.

Enoch was apparently oblivious to the strange dynamic — or he was relishing the chance to embarrass his colleague so much that he didn’t care. “You know”, he said with a conspiratorial mien, “our programmes were only initiated four years ago, so technically, he’s the perfect age!”

“Ah.” The young woman’s face was still utterly professional. “In that case I’ll have to call down a colleague. It’s company policy that a non-holographic attendant needs to be present in Småland if we host children under the age of six.”

Enoch fought for about half a second to keep a straight face and continue the bit, but then he burst out laughing so hard, he nearly doubled over. Every sarcastic comeback Emil had been thinking about melted from his mind at the sight of the ENH’s unadulterated joy. Nobody could be annoyed at Enoch for too long.

Their merriment was interrupted, however, when Steward’s tense voice cut through Enoch’s laughter: “Where is Emmet?”

Emil looked around and realized with a sudden sinking feeling that the ETH had, indeed, vanished. Without thinking, he reached out through the computer systems to try and locate his fellow hologram, but once again his efforts remained fruitless. He really hated being cut off from _Sirena’s_ AI.

Fortunately, it only took a short moment before Ian pointed to a display of discounted armchairs at one side of the hall. “Over there.”

True to form, Emmet had found the biggest, plushest chair (a surprisingly affordable specimen in bright fuchsia) and was lounging with his legs draped over the armrest, seemingly sound asleep.

The four EH’s exchanged a long look, then Ian turned to the shop assistant with a smile. “Sorry, lassie, would you mind giving us a minute?”

“Yes of course, take as long as you need.” She smiled at them, though once again there was avid curiosity shining in her eyes. “And let me know if I should open the café after all.”

Once the young woman was out of ear shot, Emil sighed. “I’ll stay with him.” The others all looked at him with varying levels of surprise, but he simply shrugged. “We dragged him along so he wouldn’t be alone on the ship. I’m not going to just leave him on his own now.”

Steward put a hand on Emil’s shoulder and leaned in a little. “I can stay if you want to have a look around. I don’t mind —”

“No, you go have fun.” He patted the EHH’s hand with a tired smile. “It’s fine. Really. We’ll find you later.”

“If you’re sure… It really wouldn’t be —”

“He said it’s fine”, Enoch interrupted him cheerily. “Come on, Steward, I want to go see the bunk-beds!”

Steward’s face immediately changed from concern to outrage. “I told you a thousand times, we’re _not_ getting bunk beds! _La Sirena_ isn’t some third-rate interstellar hostel, she’s —”

“A sophisticated transport vessel with _class_ ”, Enoch finished the sentence with him. He winked at Emil as he pulled the Hospitality Hologram away. “Okay, we’ll only consider the most sophisticated bunk-bed they have on offer.”

“It would make more room for large decor items”, Ian put in happily. “Maybe we can find some holographic fish tanks to go with the maritime decorations?”

“We’re not getting bunk-beds!”

Emil watched them bicker all the way to the stairs to the upper level where the young shop assistant welcomed them by handing out truly enormous, bright yellow bags. He shook his head fondly as he headed over to the display where Emmet had fallen asleep. They could be really irritating sometimes, but he couldn’t help but treasure his fellow holograms.

With a deep sigh, Emil let himself sink into the armchair next to Emmet’s. The ETH didn’t make any move to acknowledge his presence, but the tense lines on his face seemed to soften a little.

“You sleep as long as you like”, Emil said quietly. “And whenever you feel like exploring a bit, we can catch up with the others. It sounds like they could use your expertise in picking out the best beds…”

Emil was sure the edges of Emmet’s mouth twitched in a minuscule grin.

**Author's Note:**

> Spotted Botanicula courtesy of Thimblerig (once again, say it with me: everyone go read [_On the Decks of La Sirena_](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1634554)!!)
> 
> During my research for [_Mapping la Sirena_](https://mappinglasirena.tumblr.com/post/629058086399885312/sickbay-deep-dive-pt-2?is_related_post=1), I stumbled onto the IKEA corporate policy and it's an absolute dream of diversity, inclusivity, and humanism. I will try to do that justice, since it seems very fittingly Star Trek to me, but I’ve never worked for IKEA myself. If anyone has any stories to share about whether and how they live up to their ideals, I’d be utterly delighted to hear them ;)


End file.
